Honor Unraveled (3 page)

Those weren’t days she wanted to think about. Yet being here with Kit threw her right back into that old, panicked mindset. Fight or flight.
 

She knew, now, she couldn’t outrun her fear or her problems. She had no choice but to fight the destructive influence Kit was bound to have on her and her daughter’s lives.
 

“You could go, but you’d go without Casey.” He stepped into her space, forcing her to look up at him. “And I would find you. It’s what I do for a living. I eat people like you for breakfast.” He reached up and took an empty box off a nearby shelf. “Pack up. You’re coming home with me.”

Kit looked at the caller ID on his cell phone. It was too fucking early for a call. After he’d brought Ivy home, he spent a long and sleepless night thinking about her and Casey. His old life as a coward, when he supported them financially but stayed the hell out of their lives, was a million times easier than being here with them now, worrying about them. Seeing the disappointment in their eyes every time they looked at him.

Christian Villalobo, his FBI contact, was on the other end of the line. The ID only showed his handle, “Lobo.” Greer had nicknamed the bastard Loco Lobo. He was that, in spades.

“Bolanger here.”

“Jefferson Holbrook’s death left a power vacuum in the leadership structure of the White Kingdom Brotherhood,”
Lobo said, jumping to the meat of his information without pleasantries.
 

Kit laughed. “You’re a little slow on the uptake, Lobo. Or is it State the Obvious Day?”

“We’ve long thought he was the only thing keeping the eastern WKBers in check.”

“His second-in-command, Pete, has picked up the reins.”

“Yeah. That’s about to be tested,”
Lobo continued.
“He’s been second-in-line for years. The eastern boys don’t think he’s got what it takes to lead the West, else he would have made a bid for power years ago. There’s a reason the WKB doesn’t name successors before the fact—they tend to jump the gun and knock off their predecessors. Remember the two gangbangers you took out a few days ago?”

“Yeah.”

“They weren’t there out of idle curiosity.”

“Didn’t think they were.”

“They were advanced scouts sent to scope out the situation with Amir and the western branch. The Easterners have sent recruiters riding north and south, gathering the troops for the leadership vote—they’re going to want one of their own put in office if the two regions can’t work out how to play fairly with Amir. You got a fucking war headed your way, man. It’s gonna hit Wolf Creek Bend in two or three weeks, tops.”

“What are your boys doing about the situation?” Kit asked.

“Not much we can do, until something happens. It’s up to your team to keep things from exploding. Amir Hadad may be the leverage you need.”

Kit scoffed. Hadad, the Afghan drug lord’s representative in the US, wasn’t leverage, he was the instigator. Whatever his purpose, the net effect was pitting the two WKB factions against each other.
 

“Thanks. That was surprisingly unhelpful. We’ll keep you posted. I’m out.” Kit dropped the connection. He passed his hand over his buzz top and looked at the guys in the bunker’s control room. His two techies had listened to the call. Max, the crazy motherfucker, was ear-to-ear white teeth. He looked like his gang name, Mad Dog.
 

“Call the team together,” Kit ordered. “We gotta get ahead of this.”

Owen Tremaine, the guy who signed their paychecks, was the first into the room. In his late thirties, he was the oldest on the team. He was Red Team One, the first elite group of warriors to make it through training and into the field. He had retired from the Army a few years back and started the company they now worked for, peopled with ex-Red Team operatives. They provided intelligence, security services, and other clandestine support to various agencies in the US government. Because, yeah, being a Red Teamer was a life sentence—in or out of the Army.

Owen’s baby blues were pale—more like a blue shade of white. The hair lifted on your neck if he ever looked straight at you. He wore the team’s standard black tee and matching cargo pants. Black or tan or army green was the norm among the group. He nodded at Kit, then took up a space on the wall opposite him. Neither of them spoke as they waited for the rest of the team members to enter.
 

The room they were in was part of a bunker beneath the house, accessible by hidden stairs from the den or an elevator concealed in the master bedroom closet. There was also a long tunnel that opened half a mile off to the side of the house, wide enough to allow a tractor trailer to back up to the loading dock in the bunker.

Max and Greer, their resident techies, came in from the control room. Angel, Rocco, and Blade entered from the stairs at the north side of the bunker. Val and Kelan wandered in from the elevator via the weapons vault behind the control room.
 

Kit looked around the room at the team Owen had assembled for their mission here in Wyoming. He and Blade had come through the Red Team training about eight years behind Owen. The others had finished in the following years. The youngest, but by no means least lethal, was Greer. The tsunami Lobo said was coming would test their strengths, as individuals and as a team.
 

It was like a fist in the gut to think they might not all make it through.
 

Owen shifted against the wall, recalling him to the present as the guys waited to be briefed. He gave them a rundown of his conversation with Lobo. They started talking among themselves. Owen interrupted the chatter. “We don’t know enough about how the WKB handles transfers of power. It’s possible the Easterners are coming in for a club vote. Or this could have been in motion before Holbrook was killed, since the two divisions were vying for Amir’s goods.”

“Great,” Blade commented. “This will either be a nonviolent transfer of power or an all-out war. Either way, we’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

“But not outmanned.” Val grinned.

“Expect the war,” Kit said, ignoring Val. “Holbrook died in this house. At the very least, they’ll want to avenge that.” He looked at Owen. “We need to let the sheriff know trouble’s coming.”

Owen nodded. “Agreed. Handle it.”

“Before they start anything that would call attention to themselves, they have a lot of product to move,” Kit continued. “We need to find where they’re storing the goods and get that shit RFID’d so we can map their trade routes.” He measured his team, his gaze settling on Max. “To do that, I need to get someone inside.” Once the drug packets had been tagged with radio frequency IDs, the team would be able track them when they were moved out of the WKB warehouse.

“Righto. That would be me.” Max nodded at him.

Greer looked over at Max. There was a collective silence in the room. “You need him here,” he argued with Kit. “I’ll go.”
 

“They’ve seen you with us. They haven’t seen Max,” Kit countered. “And his cover as a full patch member is intact. You’d only be a hang-around, at best. You wouldn’t have the access he’d have.”

“Forget it, bro.” Max punched Greer’s arm. “It’s why I’m here.”

Greer looked at him. “No. I can do what you can do. I can be a ghost in there—they won’t ever see me. I can deliver a virus into their network to set up listeners. You aren’t the only one with capabilities, Max. And someone might have seen you when we stopped at the diner our first night in town.”

“It’s true you’re as good as I am. Almost.” He grinned at Greer. “But I’m the only one with a history with the WKB. If they caught you, you’d be dead. They know me. I don’t have to start at ground zero. Like Kit said, my cover is still in place. They won’t be surprised to have a senior club member ask for a tour of the facilities.” Max looked at Greer. “And they haven’t seen me. I wasn’t at Winchester’s the night you fought with them. I was at the diner once while it was open, but there weren’t any WKBers there. I didn’t go set out eyes on the compound with Blade and the others. During the fight here, no one who’s living saw me.”

Kit met the hard gazes of his men. He, Rocco, and Blade had been in Afghanistan when Max had worked undercover in the WKB with a different Red Team unit. His experience was one of the reasons Owen had pulled him into this op. Kit didn’t have access to the after-action report, but apparently the mission had taken its toll on Max.
 

Didn’t they all, though?

Owen nodded imperceptibly. “We’ll insert you when we get you set up with the equipment you’ll need. I’ll have your Panhead sent out.”

Max grinned at the thought of being reunited with his legendary 1950 Harley. Maybe it wasn’t all pain and no gain for the tech genius after all.

* * *

Kit followed the guys up the stairs after the meeting. As they neared the main floor, the homey aromas of coffee, bacon, and eggs sifted into the stairwell. Blade’s childhood home hadn’t been much of a refuge to him, but it seemed like one now to Kit. More than anywhere he’d ever lived. Even when Blade’s bastard of a father had been in residence, and Kit had broken in to visit with Blade, this house had been a refuge for him from social services.
 

The house was huge, with its eight bedrooms upstairs and six more in each of the two bedroom wings at either end of the house. Add the billiards room, movie room, large living room, dining room, wine cellar, kitchen, den, and gym building. Everyone had enough space without being in each other’s business.

Kit’s friends were all around him. Ivy and Casey were here, safe. Kathy Jackson, the wife of Blade’s foreman, ran the place with the efficiency of a drill sergeant, yet managed to come off as a housemother, concerned about everyone.

He knew this situation wouldn’t last forever, but for now, it was a haven.

The stairs to the bunker came out behind a bookshelf in the den. Kit followed the guys through it, down the hall, past the kitchen, to the dining room. The women were gathered there. Kit’s half-sister, Mandy—who was also Rocco’s girlfriend—was helping Rocco’s son, Zavi, fill his plate from the buffet. Eden, Blade’s girlfriend—and their resident dog handler—came out of the kitchen with a big bowl of fruit.

Ivy came down the hall just then with Casey and Fiona. Fee’s eyes automatically searched the group for Kelan. Odd how Ivy’s gaze did the opposite with Kit, looking at everyone and everything
but
him.

“Dad! You’re still here!” Casey ran forward and wrapped her arms around his waist.
 

Shocked, Kit took two full breaths before he returned the hug. “Well, yeah. Where else would I be?”

She looked up at him. Her eyes showed none of the avoidance that her mom’s did. They were clear conduits to her heart. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

Kit sighed. He took his daughter’s face in his hands. Her child-soft skin made him conscious of his rough palms. If he thought he’d loved her when he got the first photo of her that Ivy sent him, well, that paled in comparison to what he felt now. “I do sometimes have to leave with little warning. I may not always be here when you want to see me. But you’ll be as safe when I’m away as when I’m here.”

Casey frowned. “I didn’t feel unsafe. I was just happy to see you.”

Kit tried to answer her, but somehow the words got tangled with his tongue and stayed in his mouth. He looked around at the people in the room, who were strangely frozen in place as they watched him with Casey. He straightened and cleared his throat, shoving his emotions back into the dark places inside of him as he patted her back. Noise ramped up in the room as his team and their women went back to what they were doing and various conversations kicked up.
 

Kit smiled at Casey. “I’m happy to see you, too, honey.”

“Will you sit with me and Mom?”

He flashed a look at Ivy. She was watching him now, and her expression was anything but welcoming. “You bet. Go grab a plate before the guys eat all the food.”
 

There was a lot of noise and movement in the room as everyone visited the buffet and filled their plates, then settled at the table. Dishes clinked. Coffee cups were filled. Juice glasses were filled. Pitchers of ice-cold milk were on the table. A big urn held hot water for those who preferred tea. Kit loaded his plate and took a seat next to his daughter. Ivy sat on the opposite side of Casey, about halfway down the table.
 

“Do I have to go into the center today, Mom?” Casey asked Ivy. “I’d like to stay here.”

Ivy sent a look over her head to Kit. He shook his head and answered Casey. “No daycare for a while, Casey.”

“Yes!” she said, making an enthusiastic fist-pump.

“Wouldn’t you rather go, honey?” Ivy asked her. “They do fun things. And you’ll miss your friends.”

“Friends,” Casey scoffed.

Kit didn’t miss the anger in his daughter’s tone or the tension that flashed across Ivy’s features. “No daycare.” Kit stomped that discussion. “We’ll talk after breakfast,” he said to Ivy. “For now, she stays here.” This was the first normal day the group had had since the WKB attack that took place a couple of days ago. It was also the first opportunity he’d had to lay down some rules for Ivy and Casey.